


scene from a bedroom

by Visardist



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Het Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 03:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visardist/pseuds/Visardist
Summary: Marriage isn't so complicated if an heir is already on the way, courtesy of Hell.





	scene from a bedroom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheeon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheeon/gifts).

His wife was pacing again. It must be a Faiza-Osaren trait, this constant need to move: perhaps he should have the demons expand the castle, let her have more space to pace before she had to turn back around. Or, he thought as he watched her reach the wall and turn, they might simply demolish that wall, combine that room with this to make her a circuit. It wasn’t as if they were wearing much of anything to use such an enormous closet. He wasn’t even sure how much clothing was in it.

He reached out and snagged her ankle as she came close. She let him tumble her into the bedding on the floor, mostly because his other tentacles guided her down and softened her fall, but she still glared at him under the fallen curls of her hair.

“Husband.”

“Wife! You make me dizzy with your walkabout.” He unwound his tentacles from her without removing them entirely, and tried a winning smile, full of black fangs. It didn’t seem to work, for she sighed and sat up grudgingly, but she stayed. “What’s wound you up this time?”

“Trivial things," his wife said, and he reached with a tentacle to smooth at the wrinkle between her brows. She might be older, but that wasn't call to hurry the difference between them. She caught his tentacle before it touched even her nose, so he wound it around her wrist instead.

"How far do you walk when it's _not_ trivial?"

"Farther," she answered, coolly, and then surprised him by climbing closer, almost in his lap. It wasn't in affection, he didn't think, but out of some sense of ownership of what was in his belly, since that was the only part of him she regularly touched. As she was doing now. She ruffled the feathers back up the curve of his belly, and he frowned but let her be. "Do remember, husband, you needn't worry about earthly matters. Think only of your new domain."

"If you're going to keep favouring Faiza-Osare I can't. I _am_ still Iezilbrese, this baby isn't some personal whim.” 

“Oh, should I be bothering a soon-to-be father with matters of politics such as trade and law? You could have mentioned you felt strong enough. You can barely get up now.”

“I don’t need much strength to read documents. Or just to talk. You make it sound like I shirk, Wally.” It was comfortable, now, trading barbs. Amiable. He hoped she would stay so when the baby was born, whatever shape it was.

As he hoped, she rolled her eyes, which afforded him the chance to wrap another tentacle around her waist, so she was held in place against his side. She shifted a little, but only to settle in much the same position. “I could have sworn the conception ritual was the only thing you ever did to help Iezilbron. From your own lips, I heard this fact. Have you been lying to me?”

He paused, and his tentacles waved, loosening their grip on her, though she stayed put. “Really, Wally? You’re not going to correct me on that?”

He’d been lying, in fact, but at that time he’d also been sure she knew enough to see through him. And wasn't ducking the question at all.

“Mmm. I’ve come to the conclusion that you can’t pronounce Waldedrudis the way your mouth is now. Not that you’ve ever been able to, but the teeth must make it especially harder.”

The sheer outrage of this was enough to make him sputter. “Can’t pronounce- Waldedrudis isn’t difficult, it’s just _troublesome_!”

This produced a cackle of triumph as she shot upright in the bedding. “Well now. I do think it’s only proper for a ruler of Hell to be addressed by his proper name, don’t you think? Toirdealbhach?”

“It is the privilege of a pregnant woman to be addressed however she likes,” he shot back as primly as he could manage. “Surely it must be the same for a pregnant man, so I’ll be addressed as Turly or nothing.”

“You’re sure of that, are you, Nothing?”

The sourness of his expression, enhanced only by the smoke issuing from his nostrils, only made her cackle more.

**Author's Note:**

> It's pronounced 'Turlough', but let's pretend it's more complicated than that.


End file.
